


Mojito

by maximum_overboner



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Everyone is on the surface, Fluffy, Humor, Lighthearted, M/M, SINnamon roll, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor, Very fluffy, drunk papyrus, sans tries very hard, smut with a buildup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:38:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6732712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Undyne's birthday, and Papyrus gets wrapped up in the celebrations, overestimating the amount of alcohol he can handle, and in doing so, lands a date with everyone's favorite ghost-robot. Dutch courage is an astonishing thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Literally an excuse for me to write drunk Papyrus.

  The bar was heaving with activity, swathes of people from end to end, the low murmur of conversation spilling out and piercing the night air. It was Undyne’s birthday, and whilst only a few people from the crowd were there to celebrate it, they all certainly knew about it. Given the volume of her conversations, it was difficult not to. She, Papyrus and Sans were chatting away, and Alphys had dipped out to talk to Mettaton, who had been hogging the karaoke machine. He still was.

  The atmosphere, in that group, crackled. For the Humans in the bar that were trying to enjoy their nights, less so. Having a killer robot, stylish though he may be, two specters of death, a talking lizard and a muscular meat-slab of a woman does not inspire coziness, no matter their intention. But they had decided to leave well alone, and thus the Monsters were left to enjoy their night, which could be attributed to Undyne. She had barked out a greeting to the establishment, flexed a little, shouted her rank and threatened to break the necks of anyone that tried to ruin proceedings, all with that smile, all with that grin. And when she had left to go get drinks for everyone, to get the night started, Papyrus had awkwardly stood up to give a speech as well, apologising on Undyne’s behalf (‘THREATENING TO MURDER YOU MEANS SHE LIKES YOU, REALLY, SHE’S SUCH A SOFTIE!’) and stating that he would welcome any Human that tried to join in. Nobody had so far. It seemed as he would need to make cool new friends another day.

  That had been three hours ago.

  “Pap! Pap, do shots with me!”

  “UNDYNE...” he slurred, placing a hand on her shoulder. “YOU ARE-- YOU’RE _DRUNK_. YOU ARE DRUNK AND I CAN’T CONDONE ANY MORE.”

  She laughed raucously, tossing her head back, her slit nostrils flaring. “Ahh, hardly! I’m stone cold sober compared to you!”

  Sans was glancing between them, amused, sipping on his ice-water. Papyrus thudded his hand against the table, hitting it far harder than he had meant to.

  “NO, UNDYNE... I’M... YOU-- I’M FINE. _I_ WILL DRINK YOUR SHOTS. _I_ WILL TAKE YOUR BURDENS.”

  Sans quirked a brow, watching it all play out in front of him. He decided to interject. “papyrus, you will literally die. i will need to slap ‘em out of your hand for your own safety.”

  “I’M FINE SANS, I’M...” His head lolled. “I’M A _BIG GUY_.”

  “you’re a big guy?”

  “BIG GUY.”

  “alright, you’ve had enough.”

  Undyne looked him up and down, before sighing, conceding. “Yeah, I gotta agree. I thought you could handle your liquor.”

  “ONE! I CAN, HOW... HOW DARE YOU. TWO! I... I DON’T DRINK VERY FREQUE-- FREQUE--”

  He paused, his head incredibly warm, cheeks flushed. Sans and Undyne looked at him expectantly.

  “... OFTEN.”

  Sans shot her a glance, not wanting to laugh, as Papyrus was far-gone enough to pitch a tantrum over something insignificant. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little good-natured fun at his expense.

  “yo, undyne? you want a cheap laugh?”

  She looked at him, eyebrows quirked, her patch a little askew. Her scar was poking out. “Yeah.”

  Papyrus was swaying in his chair, not saying anything, not paying attention.

  “tell him you love him. get real mushy with it.”

  She choked back the dregs of her glass, wincing at the taste. “Wait, really?”

  “trust me. he’s emotional enough when he’s sober.”

  She gripped Papyrus’ hand in her own, as if they were about to arm wrestle. “Yo, Paps?”

  “... I... _HELLO_ , UNDYNE!”

  “Hello.”

  “I FEEL WEIRD.”

  “You will. I just wanted to say I consider you my best friend, and I’m glad you camped outside my house for two days, when you tried to get into the Guard. I love ya, man. I love ya like a big, bony brother.”

  Mettaton’s voice could be heard echoing around the room, still refusing to give up the karaoke. He was trying to pull Alphys on stage to join him, but she was having none of it, and her blustering protests were being picked up on the mic.

  Papyrus broke down spectacularly, and Sans leaned over to give him a reassuring pat on the back, having thought Papyrus would get weepy, rather than shut down. People were either staring, or making a point not to look.

  “I LOVE YOU, UNDYNE! IT’S TIME TO HUG!”

  “Papyrus, d’you need a tissue or--”

  “THERE’S NO TIME!”

  Papyrus pulled her into a crushing hug from across the table, toppling her empty glass and giving her a sloppy, but platonic, smooch on the cheek. She wiped it hurriedly, her cheek now reeking of booze, giving him a pat on the back as he awkwardly wept into her shoulder. Sans was aghast.

  “Do you need a moment, dude?”

  “FRIENDSHIP, UNDYNE! ISN’T, ISN’T--” He hiccuped, stumbling over his words, pulling tighter. “ISN’T IT THE BEST? IT’S SO _GOOD_.”

  “It is pretty rad. Geeze, you’re strong--”

  “IT’S BECAUSE-- BECAUSE I’M THE BEST AT HUGGING, UNDYNE!”

  Sans was a witness to a terrible mistake, one that would probably end with Papyrus’ ribs being ground to paste under Undyne’s passion for friendship, and her total inability to resist a challenge. Undyne flexed her arms, ready to increase her grip, before Sans slammed some money on the table.

  “i’m buyin’.”

  Undyne stopped entirely, confused, looking at him. “I thought you weren’t drinking?”

  “i’m not, but you are. happy birthday, undyne. go get somethin’ fancy, treat alphys to a cocktail or somethi--”

  “A _SEX ON THE BEACH!_ ”

  Sans winced, but carried on. He would have preferred the open weeping. Papyrus kept a lot under wraps, it seemed. “j-just, gimmie a minute, alright? i’m gonna be draggin’ his drunk ass home soon, and i’d rather not do it in a dustpan, ya dig?”

  Undyne looked to her arms, giggling, a sound that did not fit her stature, and caught on. “Ahh, c’mon, I wouldn’t have hurt him! Not intentionally, anyway. I’m probably gonna be callin’ it a night soon, too.” She glanced around, trying to catch sight of Alphys.

  Oh, she was on the karaoke. Mettaton was posing next to her. And she could carry a tune, even if it was buried under stutters and half-syllables.

  “Good job, babe!”

  “YOU DO YOUR THING, I’M SURE I’LL BE FENDING OFF THE ADMIRERS TONIGHT! THERE’S ENOUGH PAPYRUS FOR EVERYONE, PLEASE, KEEP YOUR HANDS TO YOURSELVES!” He laughed wickedly, salaciously, his filter dead. “OR _DON’T_.”

  Sans cringed. Undyne laughed harder. It sunk in.

  “Oh my God, he’s a _horny_ drunk, this is hilarious!”

  “it really ain’t.”

  “It’s funny to me, I’m not related to him!”

  She swirled her glass, seeing if there was anything left to choke back, and sighed when it wasn’t the case. Thudding her palms against the table, she stood up, before setting off towards the counter of the bar, the patrons moving to accommodate her, because like it or not, she was going to get her drink.

  Sans sighed, wiping at the sweat on his brow. Crisis averted. Papyrus watched her go, before turning slowly to Sans, trying to get his bearings.

  “geeze,” Sans chucked, “you really put ‘em away, huh? you and undyne tryin’ to preserve yourselves from the inside out?”

  “MAYBE. A LITTLE? I DON’T...” Papyrus blinked, slowly. “I THINK YOU’RE EXAGGERATING. I ONLY HAD MOJITOS.”

  Sans brought his clasped palms to his rictus, eager to see how this would play out. “dude, what do you think is in a mojito?”

  “ _MINT_ ,” Papyrus declared.

  “yeah?”

  “LOTS OF _MINT_.”

  “how much did you drink?”

  “FOUR.”

  Sans sighed. He had spent the first hour enthusing with Alphys about their old projects, their lab work. Then he had called Toriel, gave her the chance to say happy birthday, shared some puns as Frisk was far too young to be taken along, and needed minding. She had been... Hesitant at the prospect of leaving them with Asgore. “ok, that’s not that bad.”

  “PITCHERS.”

  “holy hell! dude, you might as well be chuggin’ rum out of the bottle!”

  “SANS? SANS. WHO DRINKS RUM OUT OF A BOTTLE.” He trilled the r’s, finding them pleasing, forgetting his point. “RRRRRR- _RUM_.”

  Sans shuddered, already imagining the burning on his palette, the nausea. “god. it’d taste like death.”

  “NOW FOR THESE PICTURES-- _PITCHERS_ , I MEAN, PITCHERS. THEY WERE BIG ONES. I THOUGHT IT WAS MINTY WATER. THEY TASTE SO NICE, SANS. NOBODY ASKED FOR MY I.D. OR ANYTHING.”

  “i don’t think humans can tell how old we are.”

  “YOU JUST... CUT OFF A BONE AND COUNT THE RINGS.”

  “most people just count the amount of birthdays they’ve had, pap.”

  “THAT TOO, IF YOU WANT TO BE BORING. AND I DIDN’T MEAN TO GET DRUNK, IT JUST HAPPENED! IT WAS...” He broke down into wheezes, his laugh barely audible. “... SANS? SANS, COME CLOSER.”

  Sans leaned in, propping his face up with his hands, elbows to the table. He was having fun. He would have more fun, however, when he reminded Papyrus of all this the next morning.

  “NO, NO, CLOSER!”

  He leaned in a little further, until his ass was off the seat.

  “HOW CAN YOU HEAR... MY QUALITY JOKES WHEN YOU’RE SO FAR AWAY?”

  “i’m not comin’ closer, people will get the wrong idea. just speak up.”

  “OH, WHOOPSIE, OF COURSE! ANYWAY, ANYWAY, IT’S--”

  He broke down into wheezing laughter once again, clattering his fist against the table, drowning out the sound of Undyne’s, Alphys’ and Mettaton’s performance. Given Undyne’s singing voice, that was a blessing.

  “SANS? SANS, WRITE THIS DOWN, YOU’LL LOVE IT. IT WAS...”

  He snorted.

  “ARE YOU LISTENING?”

  “i’m on the edge of my seat, paps.”

  “NO, BUT _REALLY_ LISTENING?”

  “the suspense is killin’ me.”

  He scrutinized Sans, as if weighing him up by sight.

  “IT WAS... _RUM-INTENTIONAL_.”

  Sans laughed from the bottom of his ribs to the top, caught off-guard. “so proud.”

  “AND BESIDES... THEY WERE FREE! A BARGAIN, SANS, A BARGAIN! THE BARTENDER... MAY HAVE BEEN _FLIRTING_ WITH ME!”

  “are ya sure they were free? they might’ve been for undyne. you were at the same table, after all.”

  Realization slowly dawned on Papyrus as he grasped clumsily at his skull, his face slowly morphing as his body caught up with his thoughts. “OH NO. OH NO, SANS, OH NO! I... CHUGGED THEM LIKE IT WAS GOING OUT OF STYLE.”

  “yeah, you don’t say. hey, as long as you’re havin’ fun. i don’t think she cared, she thinks it’s funny.”

  Undyne arrived back with her drink, sitting beside Papyrus once again. Alphys had clearly gotten into the karaoke, as now she was belting out a tune at Undyne’s request. Papyrus made a ‘shh-ing’ gesture to Sans, who watched on, confused. Undyne could clearly see what he was doing, but he didn’t seem to notice. He crammed his hand into his pocket, having deigned to wear pants and a dress shirt for the occasion, pulled out a fistful of bills and tried to sneak them into her pocket one at a time. They both watched him slowly jam each bill into the open part of her leather jacket, his hands fumbling, and slow. When he was done, he huffed, and leaned to Sans as if she couldn’t hear them.

  “MY DEBT HAS BEEN... _REPAID_.”

  Undyne leaned in, until they were all gathered around the small point in the center of their table. “Debt?”

  “UNDYNE, DO YOU MIND. I’M CONSPIRING.”

  “he’s payin’ you back for the pitchers.”

  “Aww, you don’t have to do that, man.”

  “THIS IS SOME TERRIBLE CONSPIRING. YOU CAN’T JUST TELL THE PERSON WHAT’S HAPPENING, SANS.”

  She gave Papyrus a pat on the back in assurance, humoring him, if only for a few seconds. “I saw you do it!”

  “NO YOU DIDN’T.”

  “she did.”

  Papyrus paused, clasping his chin in deep, earnest contemplation, his thought process ruined, drifting and swirling in fog. He huffed, finding an answer. Sans and Undyne waited with bated breath.

  “... NAH.”

  Undyne plucked the crumpled bills from her pocket, before delicately handing them to Sans under the table. They fist-bumped. They were broken out of their own conversation by the horrifying, otherworldly screech of feedback from the karaoke speakers. Mettaton moved the mic away, the interference ceasing, casually flipping his hair. Alphys was clutching at her skull, the sound resonating over and through, before slinking off the stage to watch him.

  “I’m sorry about that, sweeties, but I couldn’t help but notice that around half of you weren’t paying attention to me.”

  The bar was silent. All staring. All bemused. Papyrus rocketed up, swaying, whooping.

  “I’LL PAY ATTENTION TO YOU!”

  Mettaton cracked a smile, impeccable teeth gleaming under the coloured lights. “Thank you, cutie!”

  Once again, the music started up, and with grace, style and poise, he began. Papyrus was tittering to himself, flushing. “ _CUTIE._ ”

  Undyne sipped at her drink, slowly this time, having made the decision to pace herself.

  “What d’you see in that guy, anyway? From what I’ve heard, he’s... Kind of a dick.”

  Papyrus leaned forward, like he was passing on a grave secret, one eye drooping. “I SEE MYSELF IN HIM _IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN_.”

  Undyne snorted with laughter as Sans balked, trying to avoid the topic before it conjured any more mental images he didn’t want to be stuck with. “Papyrus, holy shit! I wasn’t sure you even knew what a dick was. You were meant to be the innocent one!”

  “undyne, for the love of fuck.”

  “DID YOU UNDERSTAND MY SUBTLE INNUENDO,” he slurred. “I’M TALKING ABOUT SEX. WITH HIM. WHICH I WOULD LIKE.”

  “Yeah,” she laughed, “I noticed!”

  “OH GOOD, I WAS WORRIED I WASN’T BEING FORWARD ENOUGH.”

  Undyne, in asking her question, had made another mistake, and Sans could spot it from a mile off even if it was too late to stop her. “How could you be any more forward than that?”

  “ _WATCH THIS_.”

  Sans scrambled to his feet, slamming his hand on Papyrus’ shoulder, desperately trying to ward off what was already set in motion. “papyrus, pap, no--!”

  Papyrus’ shrill voice cut through the murmur of the crowd, the music. “HEY METTATON! YEAH, YOU, YOU... SEXY ROBOT-MAN. WITH THE LEGS. I SHOULD-- YOU SHOULD-- YOU SHOULD COME OVER HERE SO I CAN-- SO YOU CAN TOUCH MY BUTT. MY _FINE SKELETAL HINEY_.”

  Sans suppressed an incoming peal of laughter it in an effort to preserve his brothers dignity, and so it bubbled up in odd sounding hiccups. “papyrus, sit down, for fuck’s sake!”

  “NO SANS, I’M... I’M _SEDUCING_ HIM!”

  “Dude, Papyrus, go for it!”

  “really, undyne? fuckin’ really?”

  “Shit, it might work out. He likes him, so it’s best to just get it all out there, right?”

  With an extravagant pose, Mettaton finished, dropping the microphone for effect. None of the Humans cared. If Sans were to guess, he was one more song away from being forcibly removed from the bar. Papyrus hollered as if he were at the coliseum. There was silence, broken only by Papyrus’ whoops, Sans’ pleas for them to stop, and Undyne’s wild, vivid laughter. Truly, this was the best present she could have received.

  “I can’t believe this, holy shit!”

  “METTATON, I’M... I’M...” He burped, and Sans knew he was too far gone at that point. “YOU’RE VERY PRETTY!”

  “i’m sure he knows, just, goddamn it pap, sit the fuck down--”

  “I’M... I’M, I’M GONNA GO BUY HIM A DRINK, I’M-- I-I’LL BE BACK.”

  Sans sighed, watching him potter off towards the bar, taking shaky, shaky steps, like a deer on ice, bracing himself on the chairs and tables of suffering, silent patrons, apologising with each step.

  “I CAN FEEL THE DUTCH COURAGE, SANS!”

  He wobbled, calling back.

  “I CAN FEEL THE DUTCH!”

  Sans looked on flatly. Papyrus didn’t know what ‘Dutch’ was, it was clear. He felt two taps at his shoulder, the last one lingering too long for his liking. He swung around, and saw Mettaton, framed from above, the lights giving his skin an unnatural shimmer. Undyne and Alphys were chatting away about something or other, though Sans noticed they were casting glances between them.

  “Why hello there... Sans, is it?”

  “it is.”

  “And your brother? I’m assuming he’s your brother.”

  “right on the money. why’re you a celebrity, you’d make a killin’ in detective work.”

  “Well, consider it one of my many talents.” He pulled out a business card from the compartment in his chest, crisp and clean, before handing it down to Sans, gripped between two digits.

  Sans looked it over, breathing out. Papyrus would have a blinding, close-to-orgasmic conniption if he were to find out about this. Sans would tell him, but in the morning, when he was better equipped to deal with the news.

  “Could you be a dear and pass him this? I’m worried that if I approach him in the state he’s in now, he’ll vomit on me in excitement.”

  Sans shrugged. “we can’t vomit.”

  “Darling, when you’re that drunk anything is possible.”

  “yeah, sure. i will. only when he’s sober, though.”

  “Of course. I appreciate it. And Sans?”

  “yeah?”

  “If he can’t vomit, why did he just stagger to the bathroom?”

  Sans whipped his head around, having heard the loud creak of a door, heard the clattering of bony fingers against its surface. He heard Papyrus’ voice ring out.

  “HEY, I’VE ALWAYS WONDERED WHAT PEOPLE DO IN BATHROOMS-- _WHOA LORDY, THAT’S A PENIS_.” 

 

* * *

 

 

  The walk to their home was not a long one, a little over a mile at the most, but given Papyrus’ stature and his drunkenness it felt like a half-marathon for Sans. He had eased the burden with his magic, Papyrus’ long frame hooked over his shoulder, being pushed upwards with Sans’ power just enough to take the weight off, but still walking. But unfortunately, in Papyrus’ fuzzed thinking, he had assumed they were play-fighting, and conjured just enough blue magic to push himself back down, enough that Sans’ powers were cancelled out entirely. Sans sighed, not wanting to make any more effort. Papyrus was incoherent, full intoxication now taking swing.  
  
  “SANS? SANS, I... I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!”

  Sans laughed, amused, touched. “i love you too, bro.”

  “NO, BUT... WAIT, HOLD ON, IT’S JUST... I LOVE YOU SO _MUCH!_ ”

  “i know, pap.”

  Papyrus shifted his arm, slumping into his brother, who pushed upwards once again with his magic.

  “... SO MUCH, SANS,” he slurred. “YOU’RE LIKE A BROTHER TO ME.”

  “i should hope so.”

  “AND MOST PEOPLE... MOST PEOPLE DON’T _HAVE_ THAT. WE NEED-- WE NEED TO HUG.”

  Papyrus slumped further, letting his weight drip and pour onto Sans, his legs going slack. Sans gasped, bracing his knees.

  “can this wait until you can stand up by yourself?”

  “NO, NOW IS THE BEST TIME BECAUSE YOU’RE ALREADY WEDGED UNDER MY ARMPIT. YOU’RE PRIMED FOR THE HUGGING.”

  Again, his body tumbled, Papyrus’ arms squeezing in sincere, too sincere, crushingly sincere, affection. Sans wheezed.

  “dude, dude, support your weight, you’re heavy--”

  “FEEL MY LOVE, SANS!”

  They toppled to the ground in a heap, Papyrus catching his knee on the concrete, grazing himself. He swung his arms for leverage, bopping Sans, though he couldn’t see where.

  “SANS, YOU... SANS, YOU DIDN’T DO IT RIGHT. STAND UP SO WE CAN HUG BETTER.”

  “you punched me in the groin,” Sans wheezed, forehead braced to the concrete, body wrapped in pain that was both hot and cold, “when you fell over.”

  Papyrus squinted in the night, eyes straining even under the streetlights. It all seemed so bleary, and he was so, so tired. “... TRICKSHOT!”

  “’s not a trickshot, man! you pulped my fuckin’ pubis!”

  Papyrus stood up, and waddled over, before gently placing his hand on Sans’ shoulder.

  “SANS... DO YOU-- DO YOU NEED HELP WALKING HOME?”

  Sans let out a weak cry.

 

* * *

 

 

  Good God al-fucking-mighty, Papyrus had the headache of the century. Every noise was localized to a point in the back of his skull; every beam of light was a scorching ray, every ruffle of fabric a cacophony, every feeling a distraction, every--

  “yo, paps.”

  Papyrus blearily came to, forcing his eyes open, wiping the drool from his face. He felt unwashed, and he hated it. His dress shirt was soaked with sweat. His body was half-off the couch, and he had only one shoe on.

  “... SANS?”

  “yeah, paps?”

  “... AM I DEAD?”

  “god, you wish. you wantin’ some eggs?”

  “IT’S... TIME FOR BREAKFAST?”

  “i mean, it’s two in the afternoon, but sure.”

  Papyrus picked up a nearby pillow, and groaned gently into it.

  “WHAT... WHAT DID I DO?”

  “good news, you got the robot’s number.”

  He sat up, before cringing at the pain, regretting his speed. Sans, he could tell, was suppressing dark laughter, and he appreciated the effort. His excitement finally broke through. “OH MY GOD, REALLY? IF THIS IS A PRANK, IT’S VERY CRUEL--”

  Sans handed over the card, and it smelled like perfume.

  Papyrus yelped, holding it, examining it in disbelief as if he were still in a drunken stupor. There it was, a line of digits, and a signature that had been printed on.

  A chuckle burst through Sans’ defense, but he quelled it immediately. “does the phrase ‘fine skeletal hiney’ mean anything to you?”

  Papyrus felt ill, and he wasn’t sure if it was the hangover. “OH GOD, I DIDN’T. TELL ME I DIDN’T.”

  “ya did. loudly.”

  “WELL. I CAN NEVER GO OUTSIDE AGAIN. TIME TO BECOME A HERMIT.”

  “maybe nobody at the bar will remember?”

  “I MEAN... MAYBE? DO YOU THINK A LOT OF SKELETONS GO THERE?”

  Sans made a long ‘ehh’ noise, and Papyrus sighed. He reached into his pocket, unable to find his phone, and he braced his arm against the floor, swooping it lazily. Ah, there we go. He glanced to it. Three missed calls. All from Undyne.

  And he was receiving another. He looked to Sans, before answering, his hands feeling sluggish.

  “HI, UNDYNE, HOW--”

  She was in hysterics, all words dying in her throat as laughter crushed them, braying, gently mocking laughter hitting and resonating over and over until it spilled, until Sans could hear it too.

  “A-ALRIGHT, THIS IS A LITTLE EMBARRASSING, SO I’M GOING TO HANG UP. PLEASE CALL ME WHEN YOU STOP LAUGHING. I-I’LL TALK TO YOU LATER.”

  He hung up, sighing, and the phone buzzed to life in his hand once again. He braced himself, before answering.

  “... HELLO?”

  “Alright,” Undyne said, her laughter gone, “that was a dick move on my part, sorry. I just started thinking about the bit where you announced that you saw yourself _in_ Mettaton! _Papyrus, holy shit, I_ \--”

  She was off again, wheezing, huge gasps of air, and he could hear her batter her fist against a solid surface. Papyrus kept quiet, mortified, the night slowly trickling back to him.  
  
  “I-I’m never lettin’ you live this one down, man! ‘Ooh, Undyne, don’t be vulgar’, ‘Undyne, that joke is highly inappropriate’. You're a lot more savvy than you let on, huh?”

  “I-IT’S NOT A CASE OF BEING ‘SAVVY’, I’M JUST... I’M VERY PRIVATE! USUALLY. APPARENTLY ALCOHOL, UH...” He trailed off, looking to Sans’ wincing, comparatively peppy, face. “’G-GREASES THE WHEELS’.”

  “What, you blare about wanting to fuck the robot in front of dozens of people, but sayin’ the word ‘horny’ is too much for you now? Papyrus? You’re the best.”

  Papyrus was going to melt into his chair, in a puddle of shame.

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  “I-I... UM. I-I’M GOING TO CALL HIM. AND SEE IF HE WANTS A DATE.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here comes the smut ready your dongers

 

  Papyrus smoothed at his suit, picking at creases that did not exist, shifting from foot to foot, his new shoes cutting into the back of his ankles. “H-HOW DO I LOOK?”

  Sans gave him a thumbs up, lounging on the couch, appraising him. “you look like you’re goin’ on a date.”

  “THEN I HAVE ACHIEVED MY GOALS. NOW ALL I NEED TO DO IS GO ON THE DATE, WOO HIM SPECTACULARLY, SMOOCH, AND THEN WE GET MARRIED AND BATHE IN PILES OF LOVE AND MONEY.”

  Papyrus poked at the lapels of his suit, scrunching it a little between his fingers. It felt as if something were missing, but he couldn’t place what it was.

  “I FEEL LIKE THIS NEEDS TO BE STARCHIER.”

  “pap, holy shit, if there were any more starch in that suit you’d be a potato. some kinda... boner-hungry potato.”

  “WAS THAT LAST PART NECESSARY?”

  “yeah.”

  Sans thought to Papyrus’ grand ideas of romance, and whilst he enjoyed the way he looked at the world, felt it best to temper his expectations. “you could get somethin’ to eat. you know. just to start with. talk a little.”

  “OH, NOW YOU’RE JUST BEING UNREASONABLE.”

  Papyrus was pacing in the living room, trying to ease the leather of his dress shoes, to help it soften and settle, to fit the grooves of his feet. Sans watched him, still, his eyes ticking back and forth, back and forth.

  “what’re you nervous for? he gave you his number, he digs you, right?”

  Papyrus stopped, breaking out of his stupor. “THAT’S THE THING, I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M NERVOUS ABOUT! I MEAN, THE FACT I HUMILIATED MYSELF WITH... SOME REVELATIONS--”

  “rantin’ about your dick?”

  Papyrus’ face sunk to a deep red, but he pressed on. “--SHOULDN’T COME INTO IT. OR THE FACT HE’S A CELEBRITY. AND FAMOUS. AND HANDSOME. AND--”

  Sans held his hand up. His hoodie was slung over the back of the couch, as the humidity clung to his bones, summer nights forcing him out of its comfort. “where’re you two goin’, anyway?”

  “A RESTAURANT, I THINK. HE SAID TO ‘DRESS FANCY’, BUT WE COULD ALSO BE GOING TO THE PARK.” He sighed dreamily. “HE DOES LIKE DRESSING FANCILY FOR OCCASIONS THAT DON’T CALL FOR IT.”

  “how’d you know that little tidbit,” he teased.

  “I’VE SEEN ALL OF HIS SHOWS, OF COURSE! ALL OF THEM!”

  Sans rolled his eyes, but did his best to be supportive. He was never Mettaton’s biggest fan, far from it, but he certainly wasn’t going to voice any displeasure. He wasn’t going to rain on Papyrus’ parade. Wasn’t going to piss in his salad. It wasn’t his place.

  Papyrus plonked himself on the sofa, his left leg juddering with excitement, and he began to tap at his knees without rhythm, to give him something to do while he waited. Sans poked him in the shoulder, unsure of how to broach the topic he had in mind.

  “you heard what he did with alphys, right? how he treated her?”

  Papyrus tensed up, before relaxing. “THEY’RE FRIENDS AGAIN, SO IT’S FINE.”

  “not really addressin’ the point. he...” He swayed his hand, attempting to approach the subject tactfully, knowing that Papyrus would shut the conversation down if it became too ‘intimate’. Especially given his conduct two days prior, as he wanted to never speak of it again. “... he uses people to get what he wants, paps. you see what i’m gettin’ at?”

  Papyrus went still, and quiet. “I UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’RE IMPLYING. YOU DON’T NEED TO WORRY ABOUT ME, SANS. I’M A GROWN MAN.”

  “i’m not implyin’ you aren’t, it’s just--”

  Sans settled into his well-worn crook of his seat, it having shifted to accommodate his hard edges. Good job, Sans. Best to salvage the conversation, and then let it drop, because so help him God Papyrus was going to go into this with the facts, even if he were to ignore them.

  “like, if you two become a thing--”

  “WE ARE A THING, WE’RE GOING ON A DATE. PEOPLE DON’T DO THAT UNLESS THEY’RE ALREADY THINGS.”

  Sans winced at his simple summation, but continued. “-- then i’m not gonna do the whole ‘oh, you break his heart i’ll kill you’ speech you see in movies. i’ll be nice and shit. you like him? i like him. but just... he knows you’re attracted to him, and if you two, uh... ‘get together’ too soon i’m worried he’ll break your heart, dude. he’ll take what he wants, and go, ‘cause he’s done it before. apologizing doesn’t take that away.”

  Papyrus took a deep breath, priming himself to drop the subject after he was done, picking at the threads of his suit. It still needed to be crisper. “EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE. TRUST ME. I’M GREAT, AND SMART, AFTER ALL.”

  Sans breathed a sigh of relief.

  “AND IF WE DO THINGS, THAT, WELL, COUPLES DO, THEN IT WILL ALL WORK OUT!”

  Sans felt his sigh catch in his throat, and he couldn’t refrain from being totally honest any longer. “that’s naive.”

  “IT’S NOT, IT’S JUST THE WAY THINGS ARE. AND BESIDES, THAT... I-I DON’T THINK I’LL BE READY QUITE SO... SO SOON.”

  “i’m just tryin’ to help you see--”

  “WHATEVER HAPPENS, HAPPENS. AND I WOULD... REALLY RATHER NOT TALK ABOUT THIS, IF YOU DON’T MIND.”

  Sans shrugged, leaning back. At least his warning was out there. But his brother was an adult, and even if he was wary, he could do nothing but offer input, and perhaps a shoulder to cry on when it was all over. He knew Papyrus well. His mistakes were his own. And Sans would always be there to pick up the pieces, no matter how numerous. The atmosphere was brittle, and jagged, but Papyrus didn’t pick up on it. He looked forward, before casually facing Sans.

  “SANS?”

  “yeah, pap?”

  “I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING.”

  “how’d you mean?”

  “IT’S A DATE, SANS. A DATE! WITH A CELEBRITY! A HOT ONE! I-I MEAN, I’VE READ MY DATING BOOK COVER TO COVER, EVEN THE BIT AT THE END WITH ALL THE FLUIDS, AND IT DOESN’T ACCOUNT FOR THIS!”

  Sans laughed. “c’mon, how hard can it be! just... pay him some compliments, be nice, be you, it’ll be fine!”

  “WHAT HAPPENS IF IT ISN’T, SANS. WHAT DO I DO?”

  “i don’t do dates, i couldn’t tell ya.”

  Papyrus let out an exaggerated wail of anguish, throwing his head back for that extra dramatic flair. He clacked his palm to his forehead, as if he would feint in a fit of drama.

  “c’mon,” Sans soothed, his stained vest painting him as even more of a slob in comparison to Papyrus’ fitted suit, with wide shoulders and a pinched-in waist. "you’ve been on a date before.”

  “MY DAY WITH FRISK BARELY COUNTS AS A DATE! JUST BECAUSE THEY HAPPENED TO BE LOOKING AT MY GAMS--”

  “what’s your fascination with that word?”

  “-- DOESN’T MAKE IT A REAL DATE, NOT REALLY!”

  “just... i dunno, say ‘hey, it’s nice to see you, you look... crack-a-lackin--’”

  “CRACK-A-LACKIN’, SANS? ‘CRACK-A-FRIGGING-LACKIN’?”

  “it’s better than silence.”

  Papyrus went to protest, but didn’t. He grumbled lowly. “FINE. FINE, CRACK-A-LACKIN’ IT IS. IT DOESN’T SOUND SEXY.”

  “it sounds like somethin’ cool people say.”

  Papyrus paused, hemming in thought, before raising his brow. “I AM A COOL PEOPLE. THANKS, SANS!”

  “hey, no problem. is he picking you up?”

  The doorbell went, and Papyrus slipped on the wooden flooring as he scrambled to answer it, feet clattering as he thundered.

  “COMING, COMING!”

  There was a low chuckle from outside the door, breathy and lascivious. “Oh, ideally, handsome.”

  The door swung open, and there he was in a tacky purple suit and high heels, just in time for Sans to grumble, “can ya at least wait ‘till i’m not in earshot, geeze...” Which was promptly ignored.

  “Are you ready?”

  “P-PROBABLY. LETS GO ON OUR...” He squealed in excitement. “DATE!”

 

* * *

 

 

  The restaurant ground to a halt. Deliberately so.

  Mettaton hadn’t bothered to make reservations, had just shown up, date in tow, snapped his fingers and a table had been set up for him. The other diners stared in awe at him, the celebrity, his show having been a smashing success on the surface, and to his lanky, awkward date. They were ordering.

  “A bottle of red wine, the more expensive the better. And a salad. But also an expensive one, that’s important. Papyrus..?”

  “BOLOGNESE, PLEASE, AND AN ICE WATER. WITH A LEMON, BECAUSE I’M FEELING FANCY.”

  “Oh, don’t you want some wine?”

  “I’VE LEARNED MY LESSON.”

  The waiter, who looked far out of his depth, but had literally fought the other waitstaff for a chance at the greatest tip he would ever receive, left with their order and a small, difficult to notice, bow.

  Mettaton ran his finger around the outer rim of his empty wineglass, gently, lit by candles.

  “I can’t drink it. It’s something about the alcohol, Alphys says my body can’t process it.”

  Papyrus looked at him, nervous, above all, but doing his best to make normal conversation. “THEN WHY WOULD YOU ORDER WINE?”

  “To show people that I can afford anything in here!”

  Papyrus mulled on the answer. It clicked. And if there was one thing he could understand, it was pride. “OH! OH, I GET IT.”

  “I’m glad you do, most people just think I’m vain.”

  “WHAT? I MEAN, YOU WORK VERY HARD, DANCING AND PERFORMING AND SINGING! AND IF YOU WANT TO GET BOTTLES OF WINE JUST FOR FUN, WELL, YOU SHOULD, IF IT MAKES YOU HAPPY! YOU SHOULD SHOW OFF!”

  Mettaton’s features fell from guarded lust to something altogether softer, and tentative, before he righted himself.

  “It’s nice to finally meet somebody that understands, sweetheart.”

  Papyrus flushed at the term of endearment. Mettaton used them with everyone, and yet that one felt... Sincere. Though he knew he may have been reading too much into it. The waiter returned, shaking, clearly expected a huge commission, and went to uncork it, to prove it wasn’t spoiled. Mettaton cut him off with a dismissive hand wave.

  “Just leave the bottle, it’s fine.”

  He placed it gently on the table with an ‘of course’, and left, but not before Papyrus hollered a ‘thank you’ on Mettaton’s behalf.

  Mettaton poured himself a glass of red wine, right to the top, and let it sit there, the bottle beside it. He pouted, to show off his lips.

  “So... What are your hobbies?”

  “OH! WELL... I COOK. A LOT. MOSTLY PASTA, ACTUALLY, BUT IT STILL FALLS UNDER ‘A LOT’. I USED TO WATCH YOUR SHOW, THE COOKING ONE! IT WAS MY FAVORITE UNTIL YOU TRIED TO MURDER MY FRIEND,” he chirped.

  “About that, I--”

  “YOU DON’T NEED TO WORRY ABOUT THAT, I THINK EVERYONE HAS TRIED TO MURDER FRISK AT SOME POINT. I MEAN, I HAVEN’T. OR SANS, NOW THAT I THINK ABOUT IT. BUT WE WERE NEVER ONE FOR TRENDS ANYWAY.”

  Papyrus laughed freely, gently, honestly, and Mettaton couldn’t help but beam in response. His laugh was infectious. Cute. His shoulders were broad. Hot.

  “MY FRIEND, UNDYNE, GOT ME INTO IT! YOU’VE MET HER, I THINK.”

  “Ahh, briefly. Alphys’ girlfriend?”

  “YEP, THAT’S THE ONE! ANGRY, LIKES SHOUTING AND SUPLEXES THINGS?”

  “The very same.”

  Papyrus sipped at his water, an odd look crossing his eyes as he recalled what Sans said, but he pushed it to the back of his mind, Mettaton picked up on it.

  “Something the matter?”

  “HMM? OH NO, NO, I--”

  How would he even begin to explain this one.

  Best to tell half-truths. Something he had considered, but at a separate point in time.

  “DO YOU EVER HAVE THAT MOMENT... IN THE MIDDLE OF A CONVERSATION, A-AND I DON’T MEAN THIS IN A BAD WAY, B-BUT...”

  Mettaton quirked his brow.

  “WHERE YOU THINK ‘BOY, I WISH WE WERE TALKING ABOUT ME’.”

  And he grinned from ear to ear in mutual, genuine understanding.

  “All the time! Every day! In fact, it’s happening right now!”

  “OH THANK GOD, I THOUGHT I WAS AN EGOMANIAC!”

  “You are, darling,” he cackled, “but so am I! So are we!”

  ‘We’. Papyrus tittered, flattered.

  “A-AND IT’S NOT AS IF I’M NOT INTERESTED IN THE OTHER PERSON’S CONVERSATION, BECAUSE I AM, I REALLY AM, BUT I THINK THAT IF THEY FOCUSED ON HOW GREAT I AM, THEN MAYBE THEY WOULD FEEL BETTER TOO!”

  “Finally, someone gets it--!”

 

* * *

 

  
  “--Why darling, I think this date is going swimmingly. If you were interested, I was thinking we could take this back to my boudoir.”

  Papyrus smiled at the complement, but quirked his brow, confused. They hadn’t even eaten yet. “IS THAT A SHOW?”

  “Well, you aren’t wrong. You can _come_ ,” he trilled lowly, hoping Papyrus would pick up on the hint, “and visit my abode.”

  Papyrus paused as he tried to calculate what an abode was, the intonation sailing over his head.

  “I’m inviting you for coffee, darling. Would you like that? _Coffee?_ ”

  “I DON’T DRINK A LOT OF COFFEE, IF I’M BEING HONEST. I DO DRINK TEA, SOMETIMES.”

  Papyrus took a drink of water, enjoying the way it cooled him, the humidity of the night sticking to his bones.

  “... I’m asking if you want to fuck me.”

  And out it came, until he was spluttering, bubbles of water trapped in his maw as he fumbled with the cup, his shaking hands setting it down awkwardly.

  “That’s what you were getting at, weren’t you? At the bar. It was difficult not to hear your... Intentions. You’re really quite the free spirit, aren’t you?”

  Papyrus was scraping his feet against the floor, over and over, his nerves now riled into overdrive. “H-HONESTLY? N-NOT REALLY. ABOUT THE ‘FREE SPIRIT’ THING, I MEAN, I-I’M USUALLY QUITE RESERVED. WITH THINGS LIKE THAT, AT LEAST--”

  “Ahh.” Mettaton nodded sagely, more than aware of the effect he was having. “So you’re saying alcohol helped lubricate things, then?”

  Papyrus resisted the urge to bark out ‘LUBRICATE ME!’, tear off his shirt and throw himself at Mettaton, as he was sober, and thus in full control of his faculties. Even if the growing warmth in his pelvis made it difficult to think.

  “... O-OH MY GOD, YOU, YOU DON’T MESS AROUND, DO YOU?”

  “If you don’t want to, I understand. I am stunningly attractive, and that can be very intimidating.”

  “I-I-I SHOULD S-SAY, I’M VERY OLD FASHIONED--!”

  “Would you like a napkin? You’re sweating.”

  “BOY I REALLY AM, AREN’T I? THANK YOU.”

  Papyrus took the napkin from Mettaton, dabbing it against his forehead, and wow, it smelled like sickly sweet perfume and musk.

  “Did that help?”

  Papyrus was harder, now.

  “Y-YES,” he lied, “THANK YOU.”

  He thrummed his fingers against the table, more than willing to pinch himself, sure it was another one of his vivid dreams.

  “W-WELL AT SOME POINT IN TIME, YES, I C-CAN’T SAY I WOULDN’T--” He squeaked as he felt a boot rub at the inside of his leg, his composure straining under the weight of his flustering. This was, in every sense, a fantasy made real, and he was blowing it by sweating all over the place and stumbling over his words like a buffoon.

  “Oh, some point in time, hmm? How vague.”

  It clicked.

  “WAIT. YOU’RE ASKING IF I WANT TO RIGHT NOW. AT THIS POINT IN TIME, NOT IN THE FUTURE. HERE. ON OUR FIRST DATE.”

  “As I said, it was simply an offer. I am handsome. You are handsome. If we’re both willing, why wait--”

  Papyrus was fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, playing with them to ground himself, but the action had given away his answer.

  He... Hadn’t really seen himself as that sort of person. There was nothing wrong with it, of course, but he had always imagined a great deal more woo-ing, and dates, and poems, and--

  Papyrus felt the boot press gently into his calf, rubbing back and forth, exquisite legs tempting him.

  He reached over, picked up Mettaton’s glass of wine, and chugged the whole thing in one huge, quaking gulp, before slamming it back down and letting out a heady sigh.

  “YES.”

  “Oh?”

  “Y-YES. LETS DO IT. LETS GO, LETS-- OH MY GOD--”

  For the first time on that date, Mettaton’s features shifted from measured poise, every movement slick and elegant to show off what he was proud of, to surprise. “Wait... Really? From the way you were speaking, I thought you weren’t--”

  “I’VE SAID A LOT OF THINGS IN MY LIFE, MOST OF WHICH I CAN’T REMEMBER, SO LET’S-- JUST-- OH WOW, WE-- ALRIGHT--”

  He propped his head up with his shuddering elbows, fresh sweat trickling down his spine as the pressure increased.

  “Excellent darling, excellent! I think you’re very lucky,” he purred, “to get the chance to see my body.”

  Papyrus grinned in recognition, getting swept up, excited. “L-LIKEWISE!”

  “We, of course, still have a meal to eat. Best to enjoy that, hmm?”

  Papyrus felt the boot travel up his calf to his inner thigh, and he gulped, the events of the night having not sunk in. He felt the shoe press at his groin, lightly, very lightly, just enough to communicate Mettaton’s intentions, and it took all of his willpower not to groan at the table. The foot left as quickly as it had arrived, but not before it gave him a playful tap on the shin. Thank God for long table-covers. Papyrus was certain that, on the off-chance the table were to have one if its legs removed, he would be able to prop it up himself, hands-free.

  “Are you alright? Your mouth’s open.”

  Papyrus fixed his jaw, feeling like he was on fire, wiping an errant trail of saliva from his mouth.

  God it was perfect, this day, this date, everything; his cool new boyfriend was almost too good to be true!

 

* * *

 

  Mettaton’s apartment was stunning, so decorated as to be tacky, but in such a way that it looped around to tasteful. Purples and pinks and golds haphazardly scattered to and fro in furniture and paintings, and the bedroom was no different. Papyrus was shaking.

 Holy shit, this was his bedroom.  
  
  And Mettaton was rubbing his shoulders, every spark of intimate contact making him writhe a little.

  “What do you want?”

  “I... PARDON?”

  Mettaton dipped closer, whispering, voice husky and dry. “Genitals-wise.”

  “... _PARDON?_ ”

  “Darling, this body is artificial. Custom-made. Do you think I would restrict myself? Both? I can do both.”

  Papyrus was going to foam at the mouth.

  “I-I, I-I, UM, I--”

  He blustered, attempting to think his options through, mind too swept up in the possibilities to give them any true consideration. It was best to--

  God almighty, his pants felt tight, and every shift made him feel that much warmer.

  Mettaton leaned forward, still, sculpted and poured over like a Greek statue, with no breath to give Papyrus a hook, something to hold onto as his thoughts crashed into one another.

  “TH-THIS, I-I--”

  He gulped.

  “A P-PENIS, PLEASE. I-I’M SO WELL ACQUAINTED WITH M-MY OWN, THAT I THINK THAT I WOULD BE ABLE TO GIVE... GIVE...”

  Papyrus trailed off. Did he just admit to being a chronic masturbator? Was that sexy? Best to just keep talking, to give Mettaton a whole new faux-pas to mull over.

  “N-NOT THAT I WOULDN’T LIKE BOTH, B-BUT I FEEL LIKE I WOULD BE BETTER ABLE TO PLEASE YOU, BECAUSE I’VE NEVER ACTUALLY TOUCHED A VAG--”

  Oh good, now he was admitting to being a bad lover! Excellent! People love that!

  “ _I-I MEAN, IF YOU DID WANT TO USE A VAGINA, T-THAT WOULD BE G-GREAT, B-BUT I DON’T THINK I’D BE ABLE TO LAST VERY LONG--_ ”

  Papyrus was going to calmly stand up, walk over to the window, open it with a grace reserved for the resigned, and toss himself out of it. He hoped he battered a few outcroppings on the way down, as that would be the fact people focused on.

  Mettaton moaned into his ear, to tease him, he knew, and ran his long fingers down Papyrus’ sternum.

  “Good choice.”

  His fingers dipped lower, and lower, until finally, after--

  “W-WAIT, WAIT, H-HOLD ON.”

  Mettaton retracted his hand with unnatural speed.

  “I NEED TO GET SOMETHING FROM MY POCKET.”

  Papyrus pulled out a plastic baggy from his pants, and before Mettaton could question it, Papyrus scattered its contents. Rose petals, slightly squished.

  “I’M READY!”

  “You carry rose petals in your pocket?”

  “O-ONLY IN MY SUIT ONES. JUST IN CASE I EVER NEED TO ROLL OUT MY ADVANCED SEDUCTION TECHNIQUES! WHY, IS IT...” He tented his fingers. “IS IT WEIRD?”

  “It’s ingenious!”

  Papyrus’ face lit up. Getting lost in it, finally, he brought his hand to his face dramatically.

  "NO, I... PROMISED MYSELF I WOULDN'T BEFORE MARRIAGE!"

  "If you don't want--"

  Papyrus undid his belt, then swung it above his head with a whoop, his demure nature cracking entirely to give way to lust.

  "OH, IF YOU _INSIST!_ "

  Mettaton’s face cracked into a wicked grin, before he pulled Papyrus around and planted a wet, deep kiss, dripping in primal want.

  They kissed; awkwardly, slowly, clumsily. Papyrus had his eyes fixed open, unsure of what to do. This was his first kiss.

  “Darling, move your head to the left--”

  “LIKE THIS?”

  “That’s too much, tilt your head upwards--”

  “THIS WOULD BE EASIER IF I HAD LIPS--”

  “Oh for God’s sake, we can--”

  Papyrus, in his fumbling, had cupped Mettaton’s ass, thin fingers tentatively squeezing, and all at once it clicked.

  They kissed quickly; lustfully, desperately, gasping and groping at each other, any other thoughts falling away to give way to want, instinct finally taking over. Papyrus thumbing and pawed and clung, running his hands down Mettaton’s thighs, squeezing his ass, thumbing at the false flesh. Their breaths were heavy, and in unison.

  “You know, I’ve never been with a skeleton before,” Mettaton purred, hitching Papyrus’ breath. Papyrus went to declare that he had never ‘been’ with anyone before, but felt it to be a bad idea. He had made his decision, and even if he was wrapped with trepidation, it still stood. Mettaton seemed to be on-board, but just in case, it would probably be best to check--

  Mettaton pawed at Papyrus’ erection over his suit pants, gripping firmly and tugging, deftly working the zipper with the grace of a man that was control of every one of his movements.

  Well.

  That certainly seemed like a go-ahead.

  Papyrus slumped onto the bed, propping up his torso with his elbows, giddiness and nerves mixing in his gut, having not quite processed the situation. Mettaton unclasped the pants with his teeth, having braced his hands on Papyrus’ hips.

  Oh God.

  Oh good God.

  This was actually happening. Papyrus threw his head back in disbelief, gasping, feeling his cock be enveloped by Mettaton’s mouth, having to stop himself from laughing in glee. He had seen this man on the television, a celebrity, had bought his recipe books, had daydreamed sweet, sincere things, and now Mettaton was sucking him off.

  Boy, being cool and popular and handsome was really paying off.

  Papyrus kicked his leg against the ground, overwhelmed with the sensations, the feelings that assailed him, and yet, still, he tried to speak.

  “O-OH MY GOD, THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING, THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING, THIS IS-- AH, T-THANK YOU FOR THE BLOWJOB, IT’S NEAT-O, I-I--”

  Mettaton thrummed his tongue, and that shut him up, leaving his words squashed and strained until they fell away to whimpers, to wet, heaving gasps, because holy shit, this was actually happening. His hand found the back of Mettaton’s head, playing gently with the hair, finding it foreign and fascinating. Thin strands trickled between his fingers, and they were great, everything just felt great, God, he felt great, perfect, even! Papyrus moved his hand in time with the bobbing of Mettaton’s head, guiding him gently, still in a state of total disbelief that was dissolving away to bliss, that slipped through his bones and filled him to the brim, until it felt like he was going to burst one hundred times over. Mettaton paused in his movements, before plucking Papyrus’ cock from his mouth with a soft ‘pop’, holding the shaft between two fingers. Papyrus’ chest was heaving, his suit pants were soaked with precum, and he was too blissed-out to care. He let his head flop forward, eyes so heavy they were almost shut.

  “WHY DID... WHY DID YOU STOP, IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT?”

  “It looked like you were going to cum, and I think we can have a lot more fun, right, sweetheart?”

  Papyrus laughed, high and breathy, hand clasped to his forehead, his remaining clothes stuck to him with sweat. God, it was perfect, he was going to have sex with his new boyfriend, full sex, great sex, and it was going to be everything he had ever dreamed of, even if it had come far sooner than he had anticipated!

  Papyrus nodded enthusiastically, thrusting upwards to show his want, seconds away from begging. He felt precum drip down his cock in thick spurts, the zipper of his pants jingling, surpassed in volume by his whines.

  “GOD, THAT IS SUCH A GOOD IDEA.”

  Mettaton perched himself on the bed, spreading his legs, letting Papyrus see the thick bulge in his lycra, and he gently ran his hand down its length. He shivered at the contact. His suit pants were long gone. Mettaton went to slowly, slowly, slowly drag them down, but was cut off when Papyrus plunged his hands forward and tore them in half easily, the fabric falling to pieces under his strength.

  Mettaton dipped forward, arms to the side of Papyrus, ass hovering inches away, cock bobbing, panting. “God, you’re eager aren’t you?”

  Papyrus was already positioning himself, the full weight of want making it difficult to think, to speak, to do anything but try and slip inside him, he needed it, God, he needed it, this was perfect.

  Papyrus hissed, pressing himself slowly into Mettaton, the tightness sending spats of pain into his body. Mettaton sighed, relaxing, and Papyrus felt the pressure ease slightly. God, it enveloped him, driving in a gripping warmth that pushed into his entire pelvis, before it bled out into a heat that spread up his entire body, forcing him to quake. Mettaton moved gently, slowly, chewing at his lip, and it took all of Papyrus’ willpower to resist bucking into him, to cram him full of his cock until he came, but he couldn’t, it just wasn’t done. And so he let Mettaton gently ride him, the plush, fuchsia bed squeaking under the movements.

  As far as first times went, although he had never thought it would occur so soon into a cool new relationship, he certainly wasn’t going to complain, because Mettaton felt so excruciatingly soft, so pleasant, so warm and wet and, oddly, organic.

  In, and out, and in. Papyrus scratched the fabric of the bed underneath his fingers, scrunching it in a bid to ground himself, the warmth blossoming into a gruesome, visceral heat that forced him to laugh because the sensation was just so wonderfully overwhelming. The pace hadn’t increased, it remained as excruciatingly slow, but Mettaton dipped forward to scoot Papyrus’ dress shirt up his body, having unclasped the lapels to his suit, using one hand to tug on his tie and the other to fondle at his ribs.

  “I wonder...” He huffed, every spasm of Papyrus’ cock forcing him to grunt, “If you’re sensitive here, too?”

  The cry he received, the look he was gifted with, answered his question, as Papyrus thrusted his ribs outwards to meet the touches.

  “Fucking on a first date, hmm? How naughty, darling, how naughty!”

  Papyrus could do nothing but nod vigorously, body shuddering, so far gone that he would agree to any statement Mettaton presented, any at all, just as long as he got to cum. Papyrus brought his shuddering, shaking hand to toy at Mettaton’s neglected cock, rubbing at its slit with burning determination. He began jerking, gently, tentatively, matching the speed that Mettaton set, each thrust matched with a tug.

  “Oh God, darling!”

  Mettaton caught on immediately, increasing his pace, bobbing with such energy that the bed creaked underneath his heavy body, no longer worried about injuring Papyrus. The sounds were wet, and loud, the lewdness of them resonating in Papyrus’ mind. God, this was sex, this was sex! The gentle noises of their fucking became cacophonous, Papyrus slurring out compliments and requests, and Mettaton answering them in turn, both too wrapped up to truly think about what they were saying, but invested enough to get into it.

  “P-PLEASE, P-PLEASE KEEP GOING, P-PLEASE--”

  “You’re doing so well, you’re doing so-- fuck-- you’re doing so well, honey, you’re doing so--”

  Their ministrations were painful now, both too far in the grip of arousal to maintain delicate touches, but that made it all that much better as Papyrus tugged too hard at Mettaton’s cock, and Papyrus ribs were scraped and scratched under warm, shifting metal. It was hard enough to leave bruises, Papyrus hoped. He slammed his cock upwards, his jaw completely unclasped, and he felt a thin trail of saliva drip down his face as they rutted, both desperately chasing climax. He felt it start in the pit of his groin, making his jerks uneven and twitching. It was a heat, a glorious, stabbing heat that built and spread until he was so close to cumming. He didn’t know how hard it would be, but--

  It built further.

  He was pretty sure he was going to pass out from it.

  “I-I’M G-GONNA CUM--”

  Panting and thrusting and spurting, God, how it was perfect, how Papyrus was perfect, how his cool new boyfriend was perfect, wanting to share something so intimate so soon!

  “OHH GOD, I’M--”

  His thrusts were shakier as he reached his peak, as he tugged, as the heat went from pervading to all-encompassing.

  “P-PLEASE, PLEASE, I’M GOING TO CUM, I’M GOING TO CUM, _I’M GOING TO CUM, I’M--_ ”  
  
  It built and built and built, to the point where it usually stopped, to the point where he usually gasped and came, but to his delight the feeling just kept going until he was almost convulsing. His femurs were about to cramp spectacularly, he was clenching so hard.

  “God, Papyrus!”

  That did it.

  “OH _FUCK_ \--”

  He spurted his load, feeling it spew from his cock and he writhed in blind ecstasy, his climax forcing him to feel as much as possible, every twitch, every spasm, every bead of cum as it dripped out of Mettaton. In his juddering, he had tugged on Mettaton’s cock, and he felt a hand placed about his own, helping him jerk.

  “Papyrus, Papyrus, Papyrus!”

  Hot, white, fluid coated the front of his suit, standing out starkly against the black of its fabric, thick, ropy streams hitting him and settling as he gasped, the last remnants of his orgasm leaving his head fuzzy. He was wheezing, totally spent, and Mettaton slumped onto his front, still filled.

  Papyrus threw his arms in the air in celebration, before letting them settle around Mettaton’s neck.

  “WHEW, THAT... I-I... YOU WERE AMAZING, I C-CAN’T BELIEVE THAT JUST HAPPENED! WOWIE, THIS... BEATS THOSE NIGHTS ALONE WITH JUST A PICTURE OF YOU, HA!”

  His throat was dry, like sandpaper. Mettaton looked up, shoulders hung low in exhaustion, before gently bringing his hand to Papyrus’ cheek. Papyrus went to grip it, to return the gesture with his own affection, but was cut off with two very gentle slaps.

  “Great job, toots.”

  Papyrus’ face fell. Why ‘toots’, why did that make him feel on-edge, Mettaton had used other pet names, couples just did that. And yet, it didn’t sit right. It was probably fine.

  “GOD, I’M SO GLAD WE’RE DATING! WE SHOULD DO THAT, LIKE... ALL THE TIME.”  
  
  An odd look crossed across Mettaton’s artificial face, and Papyrus could already feel his heart breaking.

  “ARE WE... ARE WE DATING? THIS WASN’T J-JUST A ONE TIME THING F-FOR YOU, RIGHT?”

  Mettaton looked to the ceiling, having gotten what he wanted, having spent himself fully. He looked gently to Papyrus, and the prospect...

  He hadn’t expected it, but the prospect was not an unattractive one. The original plan to sleep with him, then call him a cab didn’t seem like such a grand one after all. Papyrus sort of... Got it. And whilst they were hardly soulmates, had only talked for an hour or so before sleeping together, he seemed... Likable.

  His hands were long, bony. He smelled nice. His laugh was sort of cute, as well. He was loud. He was bombastic. He liked showing off, and understood the appeal in doing so.

  With an unsure cadence that sounded totally foreign, Mettaton began. “I... I’m...”

  Papyrus looked crushed, recoiling, pulling out of Mettaton with a gasp that was wet with either lust or growing tears, feeling used. Sans’ voice rang out in his mind. He poked at his thigh uselessly, now more than aware of his own vulnerability, feeling a crushing, burning shame in his bones. God, was he that easy to manipulate? Was he that easy to take advantage of, that naive?

  He felt a hand on his shoulder, felt the hard metal rub soft, gentle circles into the bone. “I... Think that would be nice.”

  Papyrus’ face lit up, huffing and red.

  “S-SO I’M YOUR BOYFRIEND. BONEFRIEND.”

  “Yes, Papyrus, I do believe you are.”

  Papyrus tittered giddily, riding his afterglow.

  “CAN WE... CAN WE, YOU KNOW.”

  Mettaton braced himself for a cavalcade of depraved, fetishistic requests.

  “CUDDLE,” he squeaked.

  Ah.

  Mettaton held his sharp, solid arms open, and Papyrus settled into the embrace, huffing. This was nice. There was no heartbeat to listen to, just the low, constant thrum of machinery, the cogs that kept Mettaton ticking and posing.

  “... WE DID THIS A LITTLE TOO FAST, DIDN’T WE?” Papyrus admitted, the lust gone, and Mettaton felt a spasm of guilt.

  “Are you upset?”

  “NO, NO. I JUST ALWAYS THOUGHT THAT I WOULDN’T BE QUITE SO EASY TO... WIN OVER, AS IT WERE.”

  Mettaton dropped his high lilts, his silken tones, to speak honestly. His voice was quiet. “I haven’t ‘entertained’ anyone in this body, if it makes you feel any better. I think I may have been... Over-eager, and I apologize.”

  “OH, DON’T APOLOGIZE, I WANTED IT! I ENJOYED IT!”

  Mettaton planted a soft smooch on Papyrus’ skull, the act of intimacy not coming as naturally to him as the motions of sex.

  Papyrus thought about asking him about his ‘old’ body, but could sense a sore subject from a mile away. Perhaps not. A lovely atmosphere was settling in, dripping into his bones, and he did not want to compromise it with his questions.  
  
  “So... That was sex!”

  “IT WAS! DID... DID YOU LIKE IT? WAS IT FUN?”

  Mettaton chortled. “It was.”

  “I AM GLAD IT WAS, UM... ‘C-CRACK-A-LACKIN’?”

  “Please, never say that again.”

  “THAT’S FAIR.”

  Papyrus nuzzled into his chest plate, the dampness of his clothes becoming uncomfortable.

  “THE NEXT DATE WE GO ON, IT’LL BE YOUR TURN TO TALK ABOUT HOW GREAT I AM.”

  Mettaton laughed. “Noted, honey.”

  “D-DO YOU MIND IF I ASK YOU SOMETHING?”

  “Now is the time to do it, darling.”

  “... CAN WE HOLD HANDS?”

  Mettaton presented his had, which was now in a firm grip. This arrangement was... He hadn’t expected it. He didn’t regret it.

  “IS IT TOO LATE TO ASK FOR AN AUTOGRAPH?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the ‘mettaton has two sets of interchangeable junk’ idea was shamelessly lifted (with permission) from nsf-sl4ughtermelon


End file.
